


Helping Hands

by plumeria47



Category: Whyborne and Griffin - Jordan L. Hawk
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Shaving, Shaving as foreplay, Yuletide 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumeria47/pseuds/plumeria47
Summary: Whyborne needs a little help getting out the door, following events of Necropolis.  Griffin is happy to lend a hand. Perhaps more than a hand. *g*





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eris_historia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eris_historia/gifts).



> As a thank you to Eris_historia for graciously betaing my assigned Yuletide 2015 fic, despite my being a complete stranger. (Sorry it took me so damn long to complete!) It's not exactly what was on your wishlist, but perhaps it'll count as "canon backstory" or "slice of life"?

"I can't stand it in here any longer, Griffin! Look, my arm hardly pains me at all now. Surely it would be all right for me to walk outside a little?"

Griffin pursed his lips, pondering. "I suppose," he said slowly. "It's not too hot yet, so you should be all right. But I'm coming with you."

"Of course, of course," I said. I was ready to agree to anything, just to get out of our hotel room. It had been my sickroom since I had awakened fully from my feverish fits a week ago. At first I had hardly been strong enough to use the chamber pot, much less totter down the hall on Griffin's arm to the water closet. That had taken two more days. But my strength had been returning rather rapidly since then and I was getting positively itchy to get some fresh air.

I threw back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. 

"Wait a moment, Whyborne." Griffin was by my side before I could so much as stand. "Let me help you."

"I'm fine," I insisted. "I've walked to the water closet without any assistance for two days now."

"Still, I'd rather you save your energy for our turn around the building." He walked over to my trunk and fished around a moment before emerging with a fresh suit of clothing. Thankfully, our things had been sent to a laundry while I'd been unconscious, because I wouldn't have been able to bear wearing them again, full of dirt and sand and camel hair.

Eagerly, I wriggled out of my pajama bottoms but had to sit down in order to step into my clean drawers and trousers, and Griffin had to help me manage the buttons. Clearly, getting dressed one-handed would take some getting used to. He held my shirt out while I gingerly slid my injured right arm into the sleeve, and then my left. My right sleeve had to be rolled up to the elbow to make room for the bandages, and I cringed to think how badly creased it would be by the end of the day, but there was no help for it. At least we didn't have to slice off the sleeve entirely – my bandaged upper arm was tight under the shirt, but it fit. Once I'd slipped my waistcoat on, Griffin refastened my sling to keep my arm immobile. Already I could hardly wait to be rid of it.

He picked up my suit coat, draping it over my slinged arm. "All ready, my dear?"

"Yes. Wait – no." I had glimpsed my face in the small mirror over the washstand as we'd walked towards the door. Two weeks' worth of beard covered my face. It wasn't that I hadn't noticed the itchy scruff but, in my excitement to get out of our room, I'd temporarily forgotten. I brought my left hand up to rub ruefully at my scraggly cheek. "I can't go out looking like this."

"I'm sure no one will find it amiss," Griffin said, clearly trying to be soothing. "Many men grow beards, you know."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I cannot bear to be seen like this." I looked down at my injured arm with a sigh. "But I'm not sure I can manage to shave with my left hand, either."

Griffin tipped his face up and kissed me, a brave gesture considering the forest of bristles around my mouth. "If it's so important to you, my dear, I think we can manage something." 

He walked over to the desk chair and carried it back to the washstand. "Please," he said, bowing with a little flourish.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," I said, but I smiled as I sat in the proffered chair. 

Griffin retrieved my shaving kit from the trunk, added water to the mug, and soon had a froth of soap whipped up with the brush. He began to spread the foam over my cheeks and jaw with soft strokes, the familiar clean scent tickling my nostrils. I'd had a barber shave me a few times, but this was far nicer, almost soothing, and I closed my eyes to better savor the sensation. I heard Griffin set the mug down with a _clink_ , heard water being poured into the washbasin, and then his warm hand was on my neck, pulling my skin taut so he could shave off this infernal beard without nicking me. Though I had experienced this from a professional before, and had certainly done it for myself countless times, but it was an entirely new experience to have Griffin do it. I felt the razor slide smoothly over my left cheek in short, clean strokes, with a pause in between as Griffin swished the blade in the rinse-water in the washbasin. _Scrape, scritch, swish. Scrape, scritch, swish._ It was remarkably relaxing and I found myself leaning into his touch as he worked. 

After a few minutes he set the razor down and took up a damp washcloth, which he used to remove any remaining shaving soap from my face. I opened my eyes long enough to ask, "How did you get so good at this?"

"It's not the first time I've shaved another man," he answered, turning to pick up my shaving mug again. 

"No?" I tried to keep my tone light, but my stomach suddenly clenched in jealousy. Perhaps he'd done this very thing with Eliott, or Glenn, or…

"Once, when I was about fifteen, Pa wrenched his right shoulder falling off a horse," Griffin continued calmly, as if hearing my thoughts and knowing they needed placating. His warm hands were back, cupping my jaw so he could turn my head a little more toward the light and I closed my eyes again in pleasure at his touch. "Rolan was a good horse," Griffin continued, "but a prairie dog had darted out ahead of him and he spooked, throwing Pa to the ground." The back of his hand caressed my left cheek, testing the smoothness, and my breath caught a little at the intimate gesture. "It only took him a few days to heal up," Griffin added, "but I shaved him until he did. Ma said it was better I do it since I already understood how to use the razor."

"Oh," I said, feeling ashamed that I had immediately thought the worst. And, I chastised myself, what would it have mattered if he had shaved a previous lover? He was with me now, and showed no signs of wanting to leave, despite his distrust of spells.

I heard Griffin whisking the shaving brush through the soap - presumably building the froth back up again - and tipped my head a little, offering my right cheek in anticipation of his next move. When nothing happened, however, I opened my eyes again. He was gazing down at me, the brush held loosely in his fingers, almost as if he'd forgotten it.

"What is it?" I asked.

He blinked, as if coming out of a brief reverie. "Nothing, my dear. Just considering."

Before I could ask what he was considering, he ran the soapy brush across his right fingertips, transferring much of the white foam to them.

"What are you-?"

"This," he said, cutting off my question before I could finish it. He reached out and began spreading the lather from his fingers to the narrow strip above my lips, and then on to other parts of my face. The thick scruff prevented him from touching my skin as fully, but I could still feel his warmth bleeding through as he gently traced around my mouth. His thumb swiped out to spread the foam under my bottom lip and down, over my chin. He seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time, and I began to feel an answering warmth in my groin the longer he touched me. 

Eventually Griffin took up my razor again; his breathing had grown oddly uneven, but his hand was steady as his left thumb pressed against my upper lip to make the skin above it taut. I was suddenly reminded of the first time he had ever laid his finger against my lips, back in that dark alley. My breath hitched a little at the memory, and of what had followed – Griffin pressing his buttock to my thigh as he'd peered out into the shadows. I remembered it still so clearly and was unable to stop a small whimper from escaping as my cock twitched, just as eager as it had been that day. 

"Yes, my dear?" Griffin murmured. He had knelt down between my legs, heedless of his freshly pressed trousers, and leaned in closer to shave the thin space above my lip; despite his apparent concentration, he seemed wholly unsurprised at my reaction. In fact, he looked rather like a cat in the cream, a languid smile spreading across his beautiful mouth. 

I couldn't help myself - my tongue darted out to swipe across the pad of his thumb, and I was gratified to hear his answering gasp in response, a sound that went straight to my cock. With difficulty, I made myself wait until he'd finished shaving the delicate space and the razor was no longer pressed against me; then, before he could pull his left hand away, I parted my lips to allow the tip of his thumb to slip inside. My tongue fluttered against his skin, caressing the ridges, and there was no mistaking the answering groan which escaped Griffin.

"I would normally say 'You'll be the death of me,'" Griffin whispered, leaning in so closely I could feel his breath ghosting against my freshly shaven cheek. "However, given the circumstances, I'm more concerned about me being the death of _you_." Gently, he tugged his thumb out of my mouth. "Any more of this, and I may become too distracted to safely hold a blade to your skin." As if to emphasize his point, he rose to his feet in order to clean the razor, simultaneously putting more distance between us.

I couldn't deny he had a point. But when he nestled himself between my legs again, I found myself stifling a moan as he leaned forward, his torso brushing the tent in my trousers. Surely he knew the effect he was having on me as he cupped my chin to tip it up. He held me a moment, as if to kiss me, his green eyes darkening with desire. But then he released my jaw, his fingers sliding down the side of my throat and anchoring themselves right over my pulse point. The pads of his fingers along my neck were callused but warm, and I could feel my heartbeat pounding beneath them as he began to shave under my jaw. I ached to kiss him, to touch him, but forced myself to stay still, given the precarious location of the blade. 

He worked with the same precise strokes that he'd used on my left cheek, but all I could really focus on was his nearness, the touch of his hands more than the touch of the razor. When my throat and jaw were done he again used his fingertips, rather than the brush, to spread foam over my right cheek. The slow slide of his hand over my face, even through the bristles, was almost unbearably erotic. I was painfully hard at this point; a quick glance at Griffin's trousers when he stood to retrieve the razor showed his condition was no better and I struggled against the urge to pull him toward me, free him from his buttons, and take him into my mouth. But as I had no desire to taste shaving soap along with his musky tang, I simply took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to control my desire as he leaned in close once again.

Any hopes I had for Griffin hurriedly scraping off my beard so I could be done and we could move on to more interesting activities were quickly dashed. While his left hand cupped my neck under my ear to hold me still, his right hand worked agonizingly slowly, carefully, as he shaved my right cheek. After a minute of this exquisite torture, I couldn't take it any more.

"Please, Griffin," I groaned, as his thumb caressed my jaw.

"Shhhh, don't move," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. I swallowed back another whimper. "I'm nearly—" He cut himself off abruptly. "Actually, let me try something."

In one fluid movement, he swung his leg over so he was now straddling my lap. Did he think this was going to make it easier for me to hold still? Because, God, now that his hard length was pushing up against mine, it was all I could do not to thrust up against him. 

Commandingly, he turned my head to the left with his hand, baring the right side of my face to him once again. "Hold still," he whispered again, and then he was mercifully sliding the razor down my skin, ridding me of the last of the horrible scruff. It felt like an eternity with him pressed so close to me, but might have only been a few more minutes. The moment he was done I shifted my hips up into his, begging for relief, but he only laughed, leaning back so he could retrieve the damp washcloth one final time. 

"Enough," I growled, grabbing it from him with my left hand. I unceremoniously rubbed it over my cheek and then tossed it over his shoulder toward the washstand. I missed, but I didn't care. I was already fisting my good hand into his coat lapel, pulling him as close as we could get with my injured arm in its sling between us, and kissing him fiercely. It wasn't enough. My hand slid down to cup his buttocks, pulling him in tight as I rocked against him feverishly. "Need you," I rasped against his mouth. 

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured, before swiping his tongue along my bottom lip.

"You wo-won't," I said, my breath hitching as he leaned over and flicked his tongue behind the shell of my ear. "I won't move, I promise."

"Hmmm," Griffin said, pulling back a little to look at me directly. A wicked gleam shone in his eyes. "I think I rather like that idea, actually." 

With that, he slid off my lap and knelt once again in front of me. With a hand on each knee he pushed my legs apart rather roughly, then slid his hands up my thighs until he reached the juncture between them. His gaze never left mine as he stroked his thumbs along the crease where my hips met my thighs and it was all I could do not to whimper again at the possessive look he was giving me. "Remember your promise, now," he admonished. "Don't. Move."

My promise was immediately put to the test. In moments he had undone the buttons on my trousers and undergarments, allowing my straining cock to finally burst free of its confines. He curled his fingers around my length but then just held me there, unmoving. A mischievous smile curved his kiss-swollen lips as he watched me struggle not to thrust into his hand. All I could do was take great, shuddering breaths in an attempt to maintain some control over the fire surging through my body.

Then he bent his head and I felt him lick up the underside of my cock, from root to tip. I moaned again, desperate for more, but he took his time, tongue lapping and curling, up and down, over and over. He kissed my leaking tip, and then, in one move, took me entirely into his mouth, sliding down as far as he could go. Desire surged, and my control slipped as I frantically pushed my hips up.

Immediately, he let go of me. "None of that," he said, firmly, gripping my hip tightly with his free hand so that I was immobile once more. "Now, do you promise to stay still, or will I need to use your sling for … other purposes? 

A jolt of lightning surged down my belly, straight to my groin at his words, and I stiffened impossibly more at the image they conjured. We had only ever used our hands to pin each other, but the idea of being actually tied down, leaving his hands free for other pursuits – it was shockingly appealing. Did he mean it seriously, or was he just in jest and I was some sort of depraved fiend for finding the idea so … stimulating?

"I'll … I'll be good," I choked out, because even if Griffin genuinely desired using such restraints, I had to admit that now wasn't a good time to try, not with my right arm still so injured.

Griffin's wicked grin returned. "Excellent," he said, and he dipped his head to engulf me with the wet heat of his mouth once again. I choked back a cry from the intensity of sensation washing through me, coupled with the effort of holding still. 

He began to work my cock, one hand encircling the base, his wrist twisting and flicking upward in time to the movements of his mouth up and down my shaft. The pace was agonizingly slow, and I found myself tightly gripping the edge of the wooden chair with my good hand, in an attempt to keep from cupping the back of his head and forcing him to speed up, but as long, deliciously torturous moments passed, I found it almost impossible to keep my word.

"Griffin," I ground out, digging my nails deeper into the underside of my chair. " _Please._ "

He swirled his tongue languidly around my tip before releasing me and looking up. "What is it you want, my dear?"

His lips were swollen and shiny, a testament to his recent activities. I wanted nothing more than to kiss them, kiss _him_ senseless and my bared member ached to be buried deep in his body. "You," I whispered. "I want _you_ , Griffin. So much."

But he shook his head, his chestnut curls bouncing as he smiled ruefully. "I want you, too, Ival," he said. "But I'm afraid I must deny us both. Perhaps when you are a bit more recovered—"

"I'm fine!" I protested, but I already knew he would not be gainsaid. He had already gone against his better judgment in allowing me my proposed walk and – even more so – in succumbing in even this limited fashion to our mutual desires.

As expected, he shook his head again. "Not today, Ival," he said gently, though the reluctance shone clear in his green eyes as he spoke. "But—" he added, the rueful smile turning heated once more, "—I am perfectly willing to finish what I started."

And before I could even draw a breath, Griffin had engulfed me fully in the hot wet cavern of his mouth, all the way down to the base. I could feel myself pressed to the back of his throat, but he didn't flinch in the slightest. A moan escaped me, probably far louder than was sensible given the thin hotel walls, but I couldn't hold it back. He slid leisurely back up my length, cheeks hollowed as he sucked hard, then down once more as he established a new rhythm, swift and dirty. Pleasure flooded my body, almost unbearable in its intensity, and yet the final crescendo stayed just out of reach.

The hand that was holding my hip suddenly released me, and I thought perhaps he meant to reach in and fondle my sac, as he often did when his mouth was on me. Instead, I saw him frantically fumble below me, and I knew, instead, that he was drawing himself out. I parted my legs more so I could better see in the gap between them, and saw his beautiful length, thick and hard and curved, as his right hand began to work it furiously. I watched him pump himself while imagining him in my own hand, remembering how the weight of his hot, sleek member felt, and it was the end of me. The next slide of his hot tongue down my shaft brought a sudden explosion of pleasure, and I only just managed to stifle my cries as I emptied myself into his mouth.

Griffin swallowed around my rapidly softening member, then released me. His own harsh breathing suddenly filled my ears, and I knew he was close. 

"I wish you were getting ready to fuck me with your beautiful cock," I whispered. I still found it difficult to speak such blatantly filthy phrases, but I knew Griffin loved it. 

"Oh, God, yes, Ival," he murmured, his head thrown back, chestnut curls tumbling down the back of his neck. 

"You're imagining it right now, aren't you?" I goaded him. "Picturing thrusting into my body."

With a stifled groan, Griffin's spent himself into his free hand, which he'd somehow had the presence of mind to cup around the end of his member. With a final few shudders, he milked the last remaining drops from his body, then slumped back onto his heels, breathing hard.

"Am I allowed to move now?" I asked, a smile teasing the corners of my mouth.

Griffin reached into his trouser pocket to pull out his handkerchief. "As long as I didn't just exhaust all your resources," he said, smiling back at me as he wiped his hand clean and checked the floor around him for any stray drops. He tucked himself back into his trousers, then reached out to help me do the same. 

"I feel fine," I said when he'd finished, and with that I reached out with my good hand and stood, helping him to his feet in the process, and then kissing him, long and slow. I could taste my spend on his lips, and it made me more conscious than ever of how grateful I was to have Griffin in my life. For all his reassurances, I still frequently felt unworthy of his love and devotion. He had sacrificed his family for me, and all I had done was expose him to more danger than he'd ever faced with the Pinkertons. But for all that, he was still here by my side, miles from home, having yet again faced his worst fears – for me. 

I wrapped my left arm around Griffin's shoulders and pulled him tightly to me, embracing him as closely as the sling would allow. Both his arms slid around my waist in response, and he tucked his head into the crook of my neck for a moment, before pulling back slightly to look at me.

"I love you, so much," he murmured, reinforcing my earlier thoughts.

"I love you, too," I replied simply. No matter how little I felt I deserved him, I could not deny the strength of my own feelings. 

After another heartfelt kiss, he released me and smiled. "Why don't you go ahead without me, my dear?"

I frowned slightly. "You're not coming?"

He reached up to stroke his own cheek. "It occurs to me that while you are now completely presentable, I have yet to shave myself. Besides," he added, his smile turning rueful, "I think you're right. You're much stronger now. I needn't worry so."

I blinked. Such an admission was rare from Griffin; his care for me often came out in unnecessary concern for my well-being, as the past few days had proven yet again. "Are you certain? I don't mind waiting for you."

"You are my Ival," he said firmly, as if this explained everything. "I know you'll be fine."

As much as I loved spending time with him, I couldn't deny that a few moments of solitude – after all the bustle of Egypt and the chaos at the Necropolis – were tempting. "All right," I finally nodded. "I promise not to go far, just out to the hotel gardens." 

Griffin kissed me again swiftly, then stepped aside, reaching for his own shaving kit. "I'll be but a moment."

And with that, I let myself out of our hotel room and made my way down the corridor, alone for the first time in weeks, and yet not alone at all. My heart was firmly anchored with the man who was diligently attending to his own morning routine, and I would gladly be by his side, always and forever, until the end of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to hamsterwoman for betaing. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Feedback is adored and greatly appreciated!


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